


Knife Safety

by TellMeNoAgain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bloodplay, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Knifeplay, M/M, NOT A DARKFIC, Oh God He Cuts The Rope, RACK - Freeform, RIP Rope, Rope Bondage, Starker D/s, Starker Kink Exchange 2020, StarkerKink20, Yeah I know it surprised me too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Peter liked knives, they looked so pretty and dangerous.Peter liked knives, and Tonynoticed.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Comments: 45
Kudos: 109
Collections: Starker Kink Exchange 2020





	Knife Safety

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a darkfic, and honestly, how I managed to make a knife and blood play fic *wholesome* is beyond me. I set out to make it FILTHY, and here we are.
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT PLAN OUT BDSM/KINK SCENES BASED ON FANFICS YOU READ. TALK TO PEOPLE IN THE KINK COMMUNITY BEFORE PICKING UP KNIVES AND SLICING YOUR PARTNERS OR LETTING ANYONE SLICE INTO YOU. FFS. FICS ARE FANTASY, NOT REALITY.
> 
> I've never done a fic exchange before, so I needed the whole gutter section of the WriterBuddies Discord server to cheer me on. Special cheerreading thanks go to livvibee, personaljunkdrawer, Orchidaexa, and SamTheSnake.
> 
> Beta'd by mindwiped solo, as jf4m has been very busy. So many donuts, m'dear. Thank you for your time, effort, and energy. Especially now, it is so very very appreciated.
> 
> Original prompt at the end, by ArtichokeDoesn'tTrustYou, who I would desperately like to gift this fic to, if you don't mind telling me your Ao3 account?

Tony laughed, “Babe, are you even listening to me?”

“What? Huh?” asked Peter, pulling his gaze from Bucky who was cleaning under his nails with a huge, wicked looking knife.

“I said, we should have May over tonight, see if she’s still mad as hell,” laughed Tony, shaking his head at Peter’s distraction.

“Uh, no?” hazarded Peter. “We just, uh, she just found out, she’s gonna be mad for, uh-“

“Until we prove to her that being mad about us doesn’t make us stop, babe,” teased Tony, but there was something serious in his eyes, too. “Until we _show_ her how good we are.”

Peter, caught by Tony’s gaze, nodded, hope rising in his chest. “Yeah, yeah! Yes! Let’s do that.”

“That kid’d jump into an ocean full of sharks for you,” Bucky sighed, standing. He looked at Tony with a slight frown and said, “Still ain’t sure what you two are doing is safe for him.”

Peter swallowed but Tony looked back at Bucky, cool and confident, and said levely, “Well, that makes three of us. But if it helps, I’m not sure it’s safe for me, either.”

Bucky snorted. “It’s definitely not safe for you. How many shovel talks did you get this week?”

“Nineteen,” said Tony blithely, but his hand, wrapped around Peter’s waist, clenched as if seeking the comfort that _Peter was still there beside him._ “In person, anyway. I’m sure my Twitter went insane.”

Peter lifted his chin to glare at Bucky. “Six or seven were probably your boyfriend, Mr. Barnes, could you _talk_ to him?”

Bucky snorted again. “You want Steve talked down, you do it. _I’ve_ learned it’s impossible to get him to shut up when he’s right.”

“He’s not,” argued Peter fiercely, eyes flashing. “I’m an adult, Mr. Barnes, I’m a _responsible_ adult, and I get to make my own choices, and I choose Tony.”

Tony kissed the side of Peter’s head. “You tell ‘em, tiger.”

“Tell Steve, not me,” grunted Bucky.

“I will,” said Peter firmly.

“Attaboy,” whispered Tony into his ear. Peter rolled his eyes and kissed the man, just to shut him up.

~~~

They didn’t get to do dinner at all that night, though, because-

“Are you _seeing_ this?” screeched Sam over the coms. “This guy looks like a deranged metallic porcupine!”

“What’s he even gonna _do_ with all of those knives?” asked Clint philosophically. “How long must it take him to _sharpen_ them?”

“Cut the chatter,” said the Captain firmly. “Stark says this looks like one of Starlord’s mercenary crew. Let’s see if he wants to talk first. Spider-Man, you able to web his feet from there?”

“Uh-“ muttered Peter into the coms, pulling his attention away from all the knives, “um, what? Sir?”

“Can you web his feet, from where you are, to hold him?” asked Steve in a patient tone of voice.

“Oh, yeah! Right now?” asked Peter excitedly.

“No, on my signal, if he doesn’t want to talk,” said Steve firmly.

“Ah, yes, Captain,” agreed Peter easily, before adding uncertainly, “what signal?”

“‘Web him,’ probably,” said Tony with a laugh in his voice.

“Probably,” agreed Steve. “You want to start the talk, Iron Man, or—?”

“Nah, whenever I try to privatize world peace I get yelled at,” sighed Tony. “And I’m already signed up for the whole world to be upset with me this week. You go for it.”

“He just wants to stare at his boy toy’s butt,” complained Clint.

Peter shifted to take aim and to better display that butt, if any sugar daddies flying around _were_ in a position to enjoy it. Fuck the whole upset world, Peter was allowed to like who he wanted to like.

“Cut the chatter, I’m going in,” said the Captain firmly.

It wouldn’t have taken the whole night to take the guy down, but it turned out he _did_ want to talk, desperately, and _to them_ , so dinner was long forgotten in the scramble to split the team and figure out who needed to save the galaxy and who needed to defend Earth.

~~~

“Ahhh,” sighed Tony with fake relaxation, arms stretching behind Peter on the spaceship’s couch-looking seat. Peter could feel the tension roiling off the other man, like a perpetual motion machine coiled too tightly. “You, me, outer space again, whattaya think? Feeling frisky?”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Everyone can see that you’re both mildly traumatized and need a moment, go _take_ a moment, Stark.”

“C’mon, ace,” said Tony, patting Peter’s knee and standing. “Let’s go find that suite we were shown.”

“Bunk,” corrected the knife-encrusted man. “Is _bunk_.”

“Is perfectly enough for what we want to do,” agreed Tony, a strange smile on his face as Peter ripped his gaze from the man’s positively _wicked_ assortment of knives. “C’mon, Underoos. Pitter patter.”

“Y-yeah, Tony, sorry, what?” asked Peter in an undertone, standing to follow the man through space… again.

“Have fun hugging it out,” snickered Sam.

“We shoulda brought the original Cap,” Tony shot back. “Cheap Detroit knock offs always irritate me.”

“That would hurt, except my wings cost more than your suit,” laughed Sam.

Tony muttered, “Only because Pep won’t let me add in my usual consultation fees,” as they slid down the hallway and into the bunk they’d been assigned.

Peter slipped into Tony’s arms, or maybe Tony slipped into Peter’s, but they were both shaking apart by the time the seal engaged, so maybe it didn’t matter.

“Never again,” croaked Tony, clinging tightly. 

“Right here,” promised Peter fiercely, “and I feel _great_ , and I’m not going _anywhere_ and Thanos can eat a bag of dicks, Tony.”

Tony barked a laugh into his shoulder and said, “A whole bag? Because wouldn’t that make him _gay_ , Peter Parker?” 

It was a near repetition of the words that got them into this relationship, and they made Peter’s lips twitch, so he repeated his lines back to Tony. “Haven’t you been paying any attention to anything not a wrench? He’s always been as straight as a corkscrew, Tony.”

“I’m glad you’re twisty,” whispered Tony, clinging tight enough that Peter could feel the tremble, still.

“Yeah, me too,” sighed Peter, burrowing closer. “Hey, to infinity and beyond. We even got the order right. Infinity first, then beyond.”

“Infinity is forever,” argued Tony, like he had to, like he couldn’t just let well enough be enough.

“Tony? Shut up and kiss me,” demanded Peter.

Just like always, Tony gave Peter exactly what he wanted. He always seemed to know what Peter wanted before Peter did, which was a really cool feature in a lover and best friend.

~~~

It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, then, when Tony whispered against Peter’s skin a few months later, “I have a surprise for you. Something I think you’ll like.”

“Oh? Sir?” asked Peter breathlessly. He was bound tightly, already, struggling not to sink all the way down into his fuzziest headspace. Not if Tony had something new he wanted to try. The ropes took such a long time, the hiss of the thick silken cords raspy against his skin, as Tony wove them with precision, twining them around his limbs. Peter knew, because Tony had whispered it to him their first night with ropes, that Tony loved best the fact that the ropes bound Peter not at all, not really- that he could bust through them if wanted.

Tony loved everything about Peter that submitted, it seemed to Peter. Especially in this hazy place, not-quite-all-the-way-down and not-quite-all-the-way-up. And oh, in this hazy place, did Peter _love_ to submit to Tony.

Tony’s hand ran, gentle and proprietary, from the nape of Peter’s neck down the long line of knots resting along his spine, stopping when he came to Peter’s hands, bound together at the base of his spine. He played gently with the fingers and Peter wiggled them back- _see? I can move them, Sir_ \- shifting his weight slightly and feeling the ropes dig deeper into his thighs, under his chest. 

He’d be so pretty, so beautiful with colors, when Tony took the ropes off, he thought muzzily.

It never lasted.

But it was so pretty, the little indentions in his skin, the pattern of the rope swirled there, pressed in deeper at the points where his weight rested or the ropes dug deeper, lightly kissing the surface and gone too soon where the ropes barely bit.

Peter loved every mark Tony gave him, like this, tied up and held safe.

“You still with me?” questioned Tony, standing in front of Peter, tapping Peter’s cheek with a gentle finger, “Or you decide to wander off? Fine with me either way, but- do you want your surprise, or no? We can do it later, if you want to wander off.”

Tony was so _perfect_ , burbled a voice deep in Peter’s mind. So perfect and nice and he always knew exactly what to say-

But Peter wanted the surprise, so he cut the voice off and said thickly, “I want the surprise, Sir. Please.”

“Excellent,” Tony said eagerly, and then there was something _cold_ and _sharp_ under Peter’s chin, lifting it, lifting it up and up and up, his neck straining, now, to take the weight of his head from the mattress where he’d been letting it drop. “Peter, look down,” teased Tony. “And meet our new friend.”

“‘S a _knife_ ,” blurted Peter, a little shocked, his eyes pinned on the long length of sullen, angry-looking menace in front of him.

“It is,” said Tony, pleased. “It is a very, very sharp knife.” He pulled it away from Peter’s chin and held it up. “A _very_ sharp knife, Peter, dear, do you understand that? How dangerous that is?”

Peter shifted in the tight hold of the rope, and repeated, “Sharp knife, Sir. Very sharp, very dang’rous,” his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. He strained toward it, just a little, and then looked up at Tony, checking in.

Tony smiled down at him and said, “You still haven’t learned how to ask for what you want, so I have to guess and surprise you.”

Peter blushed from even this mild censure. “S’rry, sir,” he slurred.

“It’s okay, Peter, I don’t mind,” Tony assured him, and then tapped Peter’s chin with the flat of the blade again when it threatened to sink back down. “I don’t mind at all,” he said slowly, amused. 

“Th’nk you, sir,” Peter told him earnestly.

“So, sport,” said Tony cheerfully, pulling the knife back and aiming the point directly at the center of Peter’s right eye. Peter gasped, his jaw dropping open. “This thing for knives, what do you think about, when you react like this to a knife? You want it to cut you open, slice you to pieces? I can put down a tarp, get Karen and Fri to monitor it, we can absolutely go there, Pumpkin Pie. That healing factor of yours says we can go beyond anyone else alive, if we want.”

Peter stared at the knife point and finally gathered the language to say, “Uh. Um,” a shudder running the length of his body as he imagined the knife doing the kind of deep damage that would require his healing factor.

“So that’s a no,” said Tony cheerfully. “Well. Can’t say I was really hoping for it. What about if I-?” he suggested, and the knife dropped, to rest on Peter’s bottom lip, tap against his lower teeth. 

Peter whined wordlessly, deep in his throat, and then panted, his eyes falling shut as he concentrated on the feather-light feel of the cool metal against the heated skin of his lip.

“So that’s a yes,” mused Tony. “Hm. Okay to play with it in dangerous ways, no major damage. I can work with that. Do you trust me, Peter?” he asked lightly.

The knife didn’t move.

Peter gasped, horribly aware of his tongue and how hard it was to shape the words around the wicked point of that tool, on his lip, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” said Tony calmly. “Because how we’re going to play tonight? That’s gonna take a whole lot of trust. How do you feel about a few quick, small little cuts, superficial? The kind your healing factor’ll-”

Peter’s tongue darted forward and pierced itself on the tip of the blade without checking in with his conscious thought process first. He could feel the small drops of blood drip onto his lip as Tony’s words abruptly halted.

“Holy fuck, Peter,” said Tony, sounding stunned. Peter grinned as best he could, careful not to pull his lips up against the sharp edge of the knife.

“That was incredibly hot,” said Tony, before grabbing ahold of the ropes between Peter’s shoulder blades, removing the knife from Peter’s mouth, and giving him a vicious shake, “and also _incredibly_ naughty. _You_ don’t make your body bruise and blush and bleed, _I_ do. Who does? _Who_ makes you bleed, Peter?”

Peter gasped, struggling to find a comfortable position with the slight shift of the ropes the shaking had created, “You, sir. You make me bleed.”

“I do. Starting tonight,” said Tony with satisfaction.

“Now,” he began, his voice slow and low and heated, “Pay attention, Peter. When you’re getting what you wanted and wouldn’t ask for, you should absolutely _pay attention as if your life depends on it_.”

Peter nodded and said shakily, “Yes- yes sir.”

His tongue throbbed one last time with pain as his healing factor closed the wound at rapid speed.

“Good. Because I’m tired of you giving other people and their knives your attention, Peter.” Tony fisted his hair and leaned in, his voice going rough and his breath a hot furnace against Peter’s cheek. “I want you to _focus_ on _my knife_ and _me_ , from here on out, you get me, Underoos?”

Peter gasped, “Yessir,” a shudder of need and longing sweeping through his body. He swayed towards Tony as much as possible, given the tight binding of the rope, as the man leaned back and his face went contemplative, his expression the hawkish glare of a predator eyeing up some small, squeaking prey far below them.

“So pay attention, Peter. _Focus_ ,” growled Tony, and then he traced a line of pain and fire from the corner of Peter’s left eye to the corner of Peter’s mouth with a swift flick of his wrist.

Peter gasped, and struggled within the tight hug of the ropes, feeling tears spring to his eyes. He hadn’t ever even thought- with all they’d already done and Tony’d already taught him, he _still_ hadn’t realized he could ask for something- something like _this-_

But now that he had it?

He was going to _pay attention,_ so he could _keep_ it. The tears spilled over with that thought, the enormity of this moment and Tony’s _surprise_ , and the fiery shock of the salt within them slid into the shallow cut along his cheek. His dick jumped to slap against his roped stomach, a line of pre-cum dribbling from it as he gasped, “ _Sir.”_

“Oh, hon,” crooned Tony. “Oh, my sweet, sweet sexy little sub. Did we like that? Are we paying attention, now?”

“Yessir,” mumbled Peter thickly.

“Good,” said Tony shortly, moving to stand behind Peter’s upturned ass. The cold of the metal touched Peter’s vulnerable hole, making him moan. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, my painslut?” chuckled Tony, the knifepoint trailing up to skim tantalizingly across the shivering skin of Peter’s ass. “Love me to fuck you bloody and raw and weeping with the pain, I know it, and you’d even survive it, and that would make it even better for me, you know. But you _just agreed_ nothing too much, greedy guts. Just a little taste, a little slice.”

The knife bit, then, while Peter reeled with the images Tony’s words built in his mind’s eye. The knife drew a long sharp line, slow and shocking, from the top of Peter’s rounded left asscheek to the crease of his thigh, and then back up at the top again, a quick slash. “T,” said Tony in a voice full of satisfaction. “Checking in, safety first, how are you _feeling_ , Peter?” he mocked.

Peter gasped and choked, writhing in his ropes, his feet fluttering against the vinyl cover on the ottoman as small drops of wet hit the left sole. God, _God_ , it felt _so much better_ than he’d expected, so much better than the bruises and scrapes left by the cane and flogger and tawse and even the slices of the whip. It was clean and sharp and bright, the pain of the knife slice. So sharp, so- so _clean_. “Please,” he begged, “Tony, please, please, _more,”_ he gasped, shocked at how much he needed it.

“S,” declared Tony, the knife tip resting on Peter’s right asscheek, now, before pressing in, sinking with an inferno of sensation that made Peter groan, his cock twitching and dribbling again. “Brace,” teased Tony, “because I want these curved lines to be beautiful, and you’re not jerking, do you hear me? You’re not jerking or moving an inch, while I draw them, you hear? Are you _paying attention?”_ he demanded suddenly, and Peter moaned as the knife bit deeper, parted flesh and sank in with all the bright and clean pain Peter _needed_.

“Yessir,” slurred Peter anxiously. “Yes, yessir. N’gonna move, _promise_.”

“Good boy,” said Tony, and the knife tip slid out, leaving shocking reports of _damage damage_ to scream their way up Peter’s spine and into his head, joining the clamor of sensations there and pulling him under for a heartbeat. “Breathe now,” ordered Tony, and Peter took a deep breath, bracing himself.

The knife slid sinuously across his ass, and if he hadn’t been _told_ it was carving an S, Peter wouldn’t have been able to describe it as anything more than shocking and beautiful and everything he ever wanted, the motion smooth and swift and the knife’s path almost _slick_ as it parted flesh and sped across his skin. He tried not to tremble, to jerk, to move at all, groaning with the effort, until Tony lifted the knife and said, “There. T. S. You know what that stands for, don’t you?”

“Yours,” cried Peter. “Yours.”

“Mine,” agreed Tony lightly. He trailed his fingers through the slick wetness trailing down the rounded firmness of Peter’s ass and then touched the small drops of wetness that had already landed on Peter’s feet. “This thing you have for knives, Peter, do you know, I think I like it? I think I like having you huddled on your knees, my initials carved into the ass I’m going to stuff full of my fat cock, later. Maybe you won’t even have healed up all the way, Peter, and I can use some of this red paint you’re dripping when I work you open, huh? Would you like that?”

Peter couldn’t breathe, abruptly, the thought of Tony casually- of Tony- of- “Sir,” he gasped, tossing his head. “Sir, I-” but words failed him.

“So that’s a yes,” chuckled Tony. “Well. We’ll see. We’re already stretching my usual definition of _fluid-bonded_ , tonight.”

Peter trembled, his hips thrusting minutely as they tried to shift away from the pain of the sharp initials, and then tried to press back into the overwhelming sensation, as confused as the thoughts whirling through Peter’s head. It was so painfully _good_ , was the thing. Better even than the sharp slice of the whip, which had seemed so shockingly _delicate_ at the time and now seemed rough and ragged, in contrast.

“More?” asked Tony, sounding a little breathless as Peter writhed.

“Please,” begged Peter tearfully. “Please, want- want you- want-”

Tony snorted and said wryly, “Fucking unbelievable. I can’t ever give you enough, can I, Petey-Pie? I could slice you to ribbons-” the knife kissed up and down Peter’s back, small little sparks of pain, dots and lines with no pattern he could determine, but so _shallow_ , so horribly _shallow_ , nothing like the slashes rapidly healing on his ass, “-and you’d lie there fucking air, wouldn’t you?”

“Yours,” moaned Peter in response, cringing from the censure of Tony’s disapproval, his dick leaking steadily.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tony cruelly. “We know that. You’re wearing my initials. Should take a photo of them, get just the right angle to catch that leaking, greedy little cock, too, and put it up on your Twitter, make it clear how _very_ much you’re mine, these days.”

Peter groaned, as Tony’s hand threaded through his hair and pulled his head back up. “How you doing?” chuckled Tony, a smirk on his lips. “You seem a little far gone, in that brilliant noggin of yours.”

“Sir,” begged Peter with a gasp. 

“Mm?” asked Tony, the knife tip dancing across Peter’s lips again, _tap-tap, taptaptap, tap- **tap** , taptaptap_. “You doing good, sweetheart? You sure seem to be liking it,” he teased, dropping to crouch and look down the gap between Peter’s bound and kneeling legs. “Made a little puddle, _bad puppy_ ,” he said playfully, batting Peter’s nose with the flat of the knife.

Peter tossed his head, gasping, body writhing with shame and _want_ because that was- that was- he needed- it was, he couldn’t _help_ it, the pain was so- Tony had to _understand_ \- 

“Nah,” Tony corrected, in a soothing tone of voice, “you’re not bad, are you, buddy? You’re just doing what painsluts do, to show their appreciation for all the hurt they deserve, aint’cha? Dripping and dribbling and making a mess worse than a chick, but it’s okay, baby,” He leant down quickly and kissed the cheek that had healed, giving a little lick to the sticky blood left behind, “That’s why I put down the vinyl cover. You squirt all you want. Gonna use you as a blackboard now, you shout out when you figure out what equation I’m writing, huh?”

And there wasn’t anything- anything _more_ , before the knife bit down and Peter’s sense scrambled to _focus_ and _pay attention_ to where it was drawing clean bright slippery slides of shape and depth against his shoulder. He tried to hold the shapes in his mind, panting and whining with effort of feeling them, remembering them, identifying them, all while drowning in the beautiful sharp clean pain trailing just behind the point of the knife as it swooped and slashed along his left shoulder. He repeated the shapes he knew over and over, searching for a pattern, feeling like every area of his brain was overtaxed and _stretching,_ struggling to hold still and shaking with the effort, as the sensations built and built and he tried to hold the potential shapes of the equation in his mind’s eyes and attach them- _Long line down curve up at end, squiggle curve, long line, long line that curved up, short line, crossed_ \- to anything that resembled anything he recognized, anything Tony would want to _draw_ on him- _Oh! Oh! OH!_

“Thermodynamics,” sobbed Peter, his lips and voice tripping over the syllables of the word, making it almost unrecognizable even to his own ears, shattered by pants and gasps. 

Tony snarled immediately, “But which _law_ , Petey-Pie? Which _law_ am I carving in your flesh?”

“Ds divided by dt is greater than zero,” cried Peter as quickly as he could make his tongue work, stumbling over the words again but forcing them out in between heaving gasp and the fiery-cold shivers of shocked pain. “Second law, second, sir, second!”

“Greater than _or equal to,”_ corrected Tony mildly, and then the knife dug into Peter's right shoulder, the tip spinning in a complete circle as Tony grated, “ _Say_ it, Peter.”

“D-s- D-s- divided-ed,” gasped Peter, the waves of pain and pressure shocking and ripping through him, cutting off his air.

Tony slid the knife back out as quickly as he’d jabbed it in, and said, “Okay, okay, not fair, I can see that now. Imagine me thinking my little painslut could remember to prioritize physics, at a time like this? I can see your balls and they’re _blue_ , Petey. You wanna cum, Pumpkin?”

“Nng,” managed Peter, grunting and shifting against the ropes. “Sir,” he gasped.

“Not a _yes, please,_ ” crooned Tony. “Maybe- hm. Maybe I’ll be nice, anyway. You wanna cum, my filthy slut?”

“‘Ssss,” hissed Peter through his gritted teeth, riding the twinned and twined waves of shame and pain. “Sssir,” he added.

“Dear me, dear me,” mocked Tony. “I need better communication than that! Here I’ve been so nice and good, are you _all done_ with my surprise, Peter?” The knife slid into Peter’s sight as his left shoulder raced to repair the damage of the equation. Blood clung to the top inch, a faint sheen against the metal. “Because you’re a little _disappointing_ right now, Underoos. You won’t _hold still for me_ ,” he growled, yanking on the rope handle on the center of Peter’s back and dangling Peter through sheer upper body strength.

“S-sorry,” gasped Peter, as the ropes bit in new ways, waking up flesh that had fallen asleep.

“Sorry’s not good enough, is it, Peter?” asked Tony tightly. “Sorry’s not good enough for me, _ever_ , is it?”

“N-n-n,” stuttered Peter, shocked and shaken and trembling in Tony’s hold.

“No, it’s not,” agreed Tony. He held Peter, dangling, for another second, and then dropped Peter back down to crash to his bound knees. The hand holding the knife flicked out in a rapid pattern, causing Peter to shout wordlessly once, twice- and then tremble, as the ropes went slack and slid across his skin to puddle and drape around his body. “Take a second,” said Tony cheerfully. “Gather yourself. Because in a minute, we’re going to discuss _reparations_ and how you’re gonna _impress_ me.”

Peter groaned, feeling the skin of his shoulders pulse and the pressure of the rapid healing build, blister-like, a sensation of encapsulated and fiery pain.

“Awww, it’s fading,” mourned Tony, digging a thumb into the tender skin of the equation. “So _fast_. Y’know, I wasn’t sold on the carving, but figured, healing factor, it wouldn’t be too bad. But now, gotta say, sport, I’m a little ticked at that same healing factor. Wonder how many equations I can write on you before it overwhelms the system a bit, slows it down. Nothing left but the blood,” he sighed, and then, to Peter’s shock, he lifted his thumb and raised it to his lips, sucking on it briefly. 

“Huh. Tastes like mine,” he said after a long second, while Peter gasped and slowly began to stretch his legs out from under him, pull his arms away from his chest and let them rest beside him. “Well. Suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.”

Tony eyed up Peter and then demanded, “Roll. _Reparations_.”

A command that his body could follow without any other cue, Peter noted, as he shifted and turned to lay in the puddle his cock had already made on the vinyl. 

“You think you’re out of the woods,” began Tony, and Peter shook his head, _no, no, I know, I know, I’m not_ \- only for Tony to growl and swoop closer, eyes darkening with something very like anger, “-I can see it, the way you’re body’s gone all relaxed and loose, Peter, don’t you lie to me.”

Peter gulped and nodded, the skidding trembles of fear colliding up and down his spine, tensing his muscles again. “That’s better,” said Tony slowly. “Because reparations means you’re going to show me you’re sorry by _impressing_ me, Peter. So hold still, now, and let me play with my new paint set.”

The knife, bright and shiny and huge in Tony’s hand, flashed once in the dim mood lighting of the room before the tip began to slice, slow and firm, a circle in the center of Peter’s chest. “Here’s another one I’d like to carve until it stays,” said Tony quietly, in a hushed voice that sounded like worship. “But how to do it, in the end,” he sighed, as Peter’s feet jerked and Peter struggled to keep his chest from heaving, from moving under that impossible parting of skin, the cold of the knife kissing both sides of the cavern it created in its passage, heating up, he would swear it, heating up as it slid along its path in a graceful arc back to the starting point. 

Tony released him from the tremblingly violent self-control by lifting the knife and saying, “Break, Peter,” in a pleased tone of voice. “There,” he added. “You can do a good job for me, look down, see how perfect that circle is.”

Peter looked down at his chest and saw it, the sides of the cut pulling apart and revealing delicate pink flesh just a little, as blood welled up to pool in the natural little dips and divots along the circular path.

“Brace, I have to work fast, now,” said Tony firmly, and Peter took a deep breath, nodding and tensing his muscles for the fight to _stay still_ for Tony. The pain was- was- he watched the knife in a daze, noting how it parted flesh in a shock and a jolt, with every slash and twist, a new shock, a new jolt, and then, lagging behind a second, the report of _damage, damage and pain, damage_ singing into Peter’s brain, overwhelming everything but the need to _stay still._

“There,” sighed Tony again, sitting back on his heels just a little, before snorting and vaulting forward, a knee on either side of Peter’s hips, his ass resting on Peter’s thighs, free hand splayed on Peter’s stomach. “Breathe, Peter,” he demanded, and Peter let out the breath he was holding and gasped for new oxygen, shaking, now, and trembling. “Breathe, baby,” he said, as Peter realized the wetness on his face must be _tears_.

Obediently, Peter breathed again, as Tony tossed the knife to clatter on the floor, his eyes dark on Peter’s face, his familiar weight grounding and stabilizing as it pressed Peter’s body down into the sticky cling of the ottoman’s surface. “Shhh,” he soothed, and Peter nodded, gasping and sobbing at intervals.

“You’re so hard, still, baby,” crooned Tony, wrapping his hands on Peter’s length. “You like this, huh?”

“Y’r _arc_ ,” gasped Peter. “On m’ _chest_.”

“Yeah,” smiled Tony cockily, “thought you’d like that one. You want to come like this, or, or on my-”

“Y’r _cock_ ,” demanded Peter. “Sir, _please_.”

“I can do that,” chuckled Tony. He shuffled at the end of the bench for a minute, switching modes and getting what he needed, Peter could picture it even if he couldn’t see it. He wasted no time prepping Peter with lube and fingers, casual, so casual, and quick, before opening his own jeans and slathering another handful of lube there, too. “Brace,” he teased, leaning back from Peter, lifting Peter by the hips into position, and then drawing Peter’s legs up, over his shoulders. Peter groaned, and then _keened_ as Tony’s cock pressed in, hands scrabbling at the vinyl draped over the ottoman. “Tony,” he gasped, and then, “ _sir_.”

“Go ahead, tell me,” groaned Tony urgently. “Tell me _everything_.”

“Want, want _you,_ want the _knife,_ want you to carve me up,” Peter babbled, tossing his head as Tony’s dick dug in and then slid back only to pound back in. “Want-” he gasped, the next thrust sudden and shocking as it skated across his prostate and made sparks of pleasure appear before his closed eyes, “forever, this, you- the knife, your _arc_ , sir.”

“Forever, huh?” chuckled Tony, building a rhythm, now, snapping his hips forward, Peter’s dick bouncing with the force of the thrusts. “Thought we were just telling people we were _dating_ , hon.”

“Forever,” protested Peter thickly, opening his eyes to meet Tony’s with mild annoyance. Tony’s grin was crooked and teasing, and Peter let his eyes roll shut again as Tony’s hips snapped him closer and closer to completion. “No one’s knife- only yours,” promised Peter. “Only- only you- your arc, your- marked me, made me-”

“Yeah, that’s right,” growled Tony now, his voice rough as he, too, began to reach that place of burn and intensity. “Yeah, mine, mine for me, my blackboard, my canvas, my paint, Peter, all of it, mine, whenever-”

“Forever,” insisted Peter, as the crest hit and held off, just a second, the haze making it hard to fight his eyelids open as he hung there, on the edge, “Please, sir, please,” he begged.

“Yeah, slut, _my_ slut,” growled Tony, rocking in, rocking impossibly deeper yet, the slick slide of his cock so familiar and welcome, the sudden bruising clench of his fingers on Peter’s hips so _perfect_ , “come on, Peter, my little pain freak, give me-”

Peter cried out, wordlessly, as the crest fell, then, his body and balls shaking with tremors that fired every nerve and muscle along every nook and cranny in his body as his stomach and chest coated with his release. Tony shouted once, too, “Pete-” and then Peter felt the little trembling jiggle to his thrust that meant he, too, was shaking apart. Peter struggled to open his eyes and caught the last heartbeat of Tony’s orgasm, the man’s head tipped back and throat muscles working, jaw clenched and fingers dug deeply into Peter’s flesh, pulling him back tightly to clench around Tony’s cock.

“Goddamnit,” sighed Tony as he relaxed from his arch. “Took me right with you, _fuck_. Wanted to last- few more minutes, at least.”

Peter gasped a chuckle and then sighed, “Apology accepted?”

“Sure as fuck,” agreed Tony, his eyes twinkling down at Peter. “How are you-?”

“Fuck, Tony,” complained Peter. “I don’t- I’m not sure I have all my limbs back yet, let me, like, count them and breathe a little, huh, before you-?”

Tony barked a laugh, carefully resettling Peter’s feet on the ottoman and pulling out with a groan. “Fair, fair,” he chuckled, patting Peter’s thigh. “You liked the surprise though, right?”

“Fuck yes,” Peter breathed, throwing an arm over his eyes because Tony looked _too good_ right now. Too good and too perfect and Peter had _meant_ forever when he’d said it. Who _else_ in the whole wide world would have given Peter exactly what he wanted, exactly how he wanted it, playful teasing and condescension and mocking and pain and- Tony had _licked_ his _blood_ , Jesus _fuck._

When he opened them, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, there was Tony, looking down at him fondly. “Can I ask yet?” he said hopefully.

Peter snorted. “Go ahead,” he sighed. “I’m ready.”

“How _are_ you, Peter Parker?” Tony questioned cheerfully. “You good?”

“I am _so fucking high_ right now,” Peter complained. “I am- if there is a floaty place beyond heaven, that is where I am. You _carved_ your _initials_ in my ass and then fucked it, sir.”

“I did,” agreed Tony, with a small mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I did do that. I also called you a disappointment,” he pointed out.

Peter groaned, “I know, I was fucking- I was there for that and you’re _awful_.”

Tony grinned triumphantly. “I knew you’d like that.”

“I did,” muttered Peter, red rising to his cheeks. “Did you cut my favorite ropes, though?” he said mournfully, fingers touching one of the frayed ends beside his thighs.

“I’ll buy you more,” Tony promised him. “Fuck, after tonight, I’ll buy you a goddamn rope artisan. A crew of them. You can have a whole artisanal rope company, Peter, if you want one. And a specialty knife blacksmith. You want that?” Peter opened his mouth to reply, but Tony waved his hand and overrode his response, saying, “Of course you don’t, you never say what you want. I know what you need. I’ll get you one. Us one. We deserve it. That was- that was _incredible_.”

Peter looked up at Tony’s wide eyes, which conveyed so much more than the words coming out of his mouth, and always had, and smiled softly, lifting a hand to rub Tony’s cheek. “It was,” he promised Tony. “And you can do it again, I _liked_ it, Tony, I promise.”

Tony huffed but pressed his cheek into Peter’s hand, the conflicting signals so very _Tony_ , Peter thought. Disdain at the thought that he needed comfort in the exact same moment as desperately taking any comfort offered, and that was _Tony_ in a nutshell, Peter thought, sighing contentedly.

“Can I please give you slavish aftercare?” implored Tony with a lip twitch. “I’m feeling very, very bad guy right now.”

“I like it when you play the bad guy,” Peter reminded him staunchly, emphasis on the _play_ part, which was important, to Tony. They fought villains and madmen and rapists and child murdering vigilantes on a weekly basis. It was important, for Tony, to be reminded that there was a gulf of difference between how he felt when he did these things to Peter and how the crazy assholes felt doing it as part of _world domination_ or whatever. Tony was the villain of these four walls, sure, but- “You’re my badguy, just for me,” Peter prompted. “Personal, handcrafted, part-time villain, right?”

“Yeah,” sighed Tony, sinking down for a kiss. Peter returned it eagerly, breaking once to declare, “And you’re in luck, because I could go for some spoiling, _Mister_ Stark.”

“Fuck, Peter,” gasped Tony. “Don’t-”

“What? Tease?” ridiculed Peter, rolling his eyes and then batting them up at Tony, “Mr. Stark, I would _never_ tease you. I am _always_ the innocent victim, here.”

“Fuck that,” chuckled Tony, possessing Peter’s mouth in another deep and drawn-out clash of lips and teeth and tongue. “Innocent,” he huffed, “you are _not_.”

Peter smiled into the kiss and said, “Caught me, Mr. Stark,” enjoying the way Tony growled into the kiss and thinking very quietly, _caught me forever, Tony_.

“‘S not nice to tease, tiger,” said Tony, a short time after, as he pulled Peter up into a sitting position and began to push Peter towards the bathroom. “Little safety lesson, you tease your dom in the middle of the dungeon, there’s so much that can happen. It’s just not a good idea. Could be _dangerous_.”

“Well, safety first,” sighed Peter, mocking a regretful tone as he stood and went where he was carefully shoved. “I guess I better stop. Forever.”

“Nah,” growled Tony, slipping his arms under Peter’s and patting the healed flesh where he’d carved his arc reactor. “That’d be a mistake, too. Try moderation,” he suggested brightly.

“You first,” laughed Peter, already looking forward to the shower and the slow, sweet sex he’d come to associate with Tony’s version of aftercare and reconnection for both of them.

“Yeah, me first this time,” chuckled Tony in his ear, thrusting his hips into Peter’s backside.

“Yes, sir,” breathed Peter.

 _Forever_. To infinity and then _beyond_ , for this man.

~~~

“Babe, should I order the- what are you looking at _now_?” teased Tony.

“Hm?” asked Peter, turning his attention to Tony. “Oh, uh. Nothing. Just-” he began blushing and looked up at Tony with pleading eyes. “Just thinking about you, actually.”

Tony glanced along Peter’s line of sight, to the door of the kitchen, and through the little window, to where the chef was attacking thick cuts of meat with a cleaver. “Oh. Well,” he said, before flicking a teasing glance up at Peter. “Isn’t that sweet?” he murmured.

“It really is,” sighed May, leaning into Happy and lifting her hand for another glass of wine. “And that’s the worst part of all of this. How’m I supposed to stay mad at you, Peter?”

“Oh, uh, well, then don’t?” suggested Peter brightly. “And, yes, Tony, you should order dessert. What about the fondue?”

“Oh, they have those little s’mores sets,” said May brightly. “With the sticks and the little fire, let’s do that.”

“Yeah, babe,” said Tony with a smirk. “Let’s do a little fire, huh?”

Peter choked on his water and glared at Tony while the man flagging down the waiter and ordered the s’mores for the whole table.

Damn the man for chuckling evilly. It took Peter a whole minute to stop blushing wildly and while he knew Aunt May didn’t have a clue what was going on, he suspected from Happy’s eyebrow that the man had no trouble reading Peter’s reactions to Tony’s teasing.

No. Not teasing.

Tony didn’t tease. Not in that tone of voice, his heated eyes capturing Peter’s gaze.

Tony _reminded_.

“Now, babe,” said Tony, grabbing up one of the pokers and spearing a marshmallow on it with a casual hand, “ _pay attention_ , because fire? Is really hot. And that makes it dangerous.”

May and Happy both snorted, although, if Peter was correct about what Happy knew, for _wildly different reasons_. Peter considered his options and smiled, grabbing his own poker and spearing a marshmallow on it. “Thanks, Tony,” he said gently. “whatever would I do without you and these little safety lessons?”

**Author's Note:**

> Now we sit anxiously and wait to see if the prompter enjoyed the fic! EEEEK SQUEAK!
> 
> Someone hold my hand?
> 
> ORIGINAL PROMPT, COURTESY OF ArtichokeDoesn'tTrustYou, who I would desperately like to gift this work to (WHAT IS YOUR AO3, ARTICHOKE?): Peter likes knives, they look pretty and dangerous, but when it’s his own boyfriend, Tony, holding them against his skin in the bedroom then they become much more arousing than he previously thought.
> 
> Additional kinks: Over Stimulation. Rope/Bondage. Dom and Sub


End file.
